


Three Days

by Aruccio, pierogis



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alternate Universe - Javert Survives, And doesn't respect personal space, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Canon Era, Demiromantic, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Enemies to Friends, Fix-It, Hurt/Comfort, Javert Lives, Javert is an idiot, Javert's Existential Crisis, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Plot Twists, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Shameless Musical References, Slow Burn, Suicidal Thoughts, Translation, Valjean likes hugs, Work In Progress, plot without porn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-06
Updated: 2017-07-25
Packaged: 2018-10-28 20:15:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 14,379
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10838628
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aruccio/pseuds/Aruccio, https://archiveofourown.org/users/pierogis/pseuds/pierogis
Summary: Before his arrest, Valjean asked Javert for three days to find Fantine's daughter. Of course, he didn't agree to let a convict go then - but what if he actually considered the child's possible existence and this proposition?





	1. Confrontation

**Author's Note:**

  * A translation of [Trzy dni](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10821438) by [Aruccio](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aruccio/pseuds/Aruccio), [pierogis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pierogis/pseuds/pierogis). 

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Javert learns that he was right. He's not thrilled.

Javert was still doubtful about the identity of the assumed Jean Valjean, found to be living under the name of Champmathieu, but he gave his testimony to bring justice to the world. Three of the fellow galley slaves had confirmed the man to be Valjean, why would it be anyone else? Furthermore, he still felt guilt for accusing the mayor of the town of being the runaway criminal.

The inspector wished to remain until the end of the trial, but he had been urgently called back to Montreuil-sur-mer - in an unimportant matter, as he learned when he had arrived. That was enough ruin the rest of the evening for him. Now he was forced to wait for the news from Arras rather than being there to witness the events personally. Due to this, he was still in a foul mood in the morning, as he buttoned up his uniform. His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of knocking, and after opening the door he was faced with a young policeman holding a waxed envelope.

“Francis Carreac, Monsieur Inspector. I bring a message from the court in Arras.”

Javert forgot that his jacket was still unbuttoned. He briefly took notice of the look of surprise on the boy’s face as he snatched the letter from his hands and broke the seal. Before he could read the contents of the envelope, the messenger spoke:

“Monsieur, the events at the court took an unexpected turn. Monsieur Madeleine, present there during the trial, was recognised to be the fugitive Jean Valjean.”

“Monsieur le Maire?”, he asked as the letter dropped from his hands. He collected himself quickly and picked it up, glancing at the boy. “Was he arrested? Where is he now?”

“That is the problem, monsieur. He returned to Montreuil-sur-Mer as a free man. When the trial came to an end with Champmathieu pronounced to be innocent, I was commanded to deliver the arrest warrant.”

With no further comment, Javert opened the letter. Indeed, it contained an order, a short notification from the authorities commanding him to find Jean Valjean and bring him to justice. He read the message a few times, then calmly thanked the messenger and sent him away. 

Only when the doors closed, the letter got crumpled in a clenched fist. So Madeleine, the kind-hearted Madeleine, really is Valjean? And then Javert was not wrong when he denounced him at the Prefecture? For the past eight years the man was on his very doorstep, in fact on the doorsteps of so many people, yet none but him noted the similarities?

“I knew it. I knew it!” he pounded the table.

How dare he! Who is that man?! He broke his parole, disappeared, then earned a fortune?! He thought that the respect he gained as Madeleine will save Valjean when the truth gets revealed? Not a chance. 

Javert straightened his back and took a deep breath. There have been rumors lately, saying that every day the mayor has been visiting the hospital to see the woman that he had recently saved from being arrested. This shall be the first place for him to check.

Faster than usually he completed his uniform and left the building. He did not notice the crookedly buttoned up jacket - a sign of agitation that he has not experienced for a long time. Even when he denounced the mayor he felt calmer than now. At last the time has come, the moment when he can finally do his job properly and bring the outlaw to justice. 

He took two armed policemen to wait at the door of the hospital. Armed with a heavy cane, he entered the building on his own. One of the nurses led him upstairs, not surprised to see the police. Monsieur Madeleine was often accompanied by some gendarmes.

“There is a severely ill woman here, monsieur, please do behave quietly,” the nurse said before leaving.

Javert did not answer. Carefully, he pushed the door, holding the cane behind his back, quietly sliding into the room. 

Valjean was kneeling next to the woman’s bed, as if he was praying, with his side turned towards the door. Fantine was laying down with her face turned to the imposter mayor, muttering something with joy. However, as Javert noticed, Valjean kept his eyes closed and gave no response - he was not sure if the man was even listening. He was not aware that someone has entered the room until the woman turned her head towards the door, her eyes suddenly displaying fear rather than joy. Her sudden silence must have disturbed Valjean, as he opened his eyes and looked at her. Slowly, with a noticeable strain, she sat up and her skinny hand gripped the blanket. Her sudden behaviour startled the mayor.

“Good God! What ails you, Fantine?” he exclaimed.

She made no reply. The sole sight of the inspector terrified her enough to take her voice away. Javert felt pride that his presence prompts such response from the criminals - undoubtedly, this woman was one. It meant that he was doing his job well and that he gained a sort of respect, even if it was based on fear of judgement of their deeds. The woman touched Valjean’s shoulder, making a gesture telling him to look at the enterance. He turned his head to notice Javert in the half-open door.

When the gaze of the man known as monsieur Madeleine crossed his own, Javert noticed that the other felt a kind of respect, even fear. He smiled proudly in his mind. Yet there was no smile on his face. There was happiness, the only kind of happiness that he had felt for a long time, the biggest joy of a policeman - to find a long-hunted outlaw, to be able to imprison him, so that he cannot do damage to the society again. Fantine covered her face with her hands with horror.

“Monsieur Madeleine, save me!”

Jean Valjean stood up and spoke to her in a gentle, calm voice:

“Be at ease; it is not for you that he is come,” he said, then turned to Javert. “I know what you want.”

“Be quick about it!”

His voice tore through the air like a dagger. He exclaimed this nearly with euphoria, with an agitation that could not be hidden. He did not show the arrest warrant. They both knew that he had it.

Javert seemed confident. He wanted to finish it quickly, but for the first time since he started working for the police he was not precisely sure what to do. To him, Jean Valjean was a fugitive prisoner, a dangerous criminal of whom he could expect anything, given that he ended up on the position of a mayor. That is why he limited himself to simply calling “be quick about it!” and casting a sharp gaze - a gaze that paralyzed Fantine two months ago, yet had no effect on Valjean. Instead, the sick woman lifted her head, hearing this. Still, the presence of the mayor - false mayor, that she did not know - soothed her. What is there for her to fear if he is here?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a translation of Aruccio's Polish fic Trzy Dni and English isn't the first language of either of us, so absolutely do feel free to correct me on any mistakes!  
> Hopefully the next chapter will be up soon, I just need to translate it :D  
> ~Pi
> 
> Hello! Welcome in our fic!  
> ~Aru


	2. Doubts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Javert slowly realizes that he has no good plan on how to deal with the situation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A lot of the dialogue here is taken straight from the Brick

Javert stepped closer, located himself in the center of the room and spoke again, this time so loudly that it was more of a shout. “See here now! Art thou coming?”

Madeleine, under whom he has been serving for years, has never seen him in such a state, as agitated as now. He had no idea that Jean Valjean had that much of an effect on the inspector. He also noticed that with the presence of Javert, Fantine’s state seemed to suddenly worsen, even though she seemed to be getting better earlier. He felt a sting of anger, but he knew that he had to keep it down. He could not afford to fight now, not at the expense of the woman’s health.

Suddenly, Javert grasped him by the scarf and collar, and he bowed his head, accepting defeat.

“Monsieur le Maire!”, the woman cried.

In response, Javert burst into laughter, a terrible laughter that made her shiver. “There is no longer any Monsieur le Maire here!”

Valjean made no attempt to free himself, just said quietly: “Javert-”

“Call me Mr. Inspector.”

“Monsieur, I should like to say a word to you in private.”

“Aloud! Say it aloud!” Javert shot back, “people are in the habit of talking aloud to me.”

His satisfaction was being replaced by irritation caused by Valjean’s behavior. No resistance, no attempts to escape? Why? Why did he even find him here, why did Valjean come back to the role of Madeleine for these few hours? Shouldn’t the convict be attempting to escape from the prospect of prison?

“But you alone should hear it-”

“What difference does that make to me? I shall not listen.”

Javert’s ire rose further when the other man leaned towards him and said quietly, on one breath of air, “Grant me three days’ grace! three days in which to go and fetch the child of this unhappy woman. I will pay whatever is necessary. You shall accompany me if you choose.”

“You must think me mad!” shouted Javert, more outraged by the proposal than by the attempt to bribe him. “Come now,” he continued, “I did not think you such a fool! You ask me to give you three days in which to run away! You say that it is for the purpose of fetching that creature’s child! Ah! That’s good! That’s really capital!”

“My child!” the sick woman’s voice could suddenly be heard, “to go and fetch my child! She is not here, then! Answer me, sister; where is Cosette? I want to see my child! Monsieur Madeleine! Monsieur le Maire!”

“And she’s at it again!” Javert hissed, becoming increasingly enraged by the situation, now even more with the woman’s complaints. “Will you keep quiet?! It’s a pretty sort of a place where convicts are magistrates, and where women of the town are cared for like countesses! Ah, but this will change now!” He glared at Fantine, still holding Valjean’s collar. “I tell you, there is no Monsieur Madeleine, no Monsieur le Maire. There is only a thief, a criminal and a convict of the name of Valjean! And this is who I am holding, do you understand?!”

Fantine sprung up to a sitting position, looked at Valjean, then at the inspector, and at Valjean again. She opened her mouth, as if trying to say something, but she broke into cough instead and lost her balance. Her weak arms did not suffice to support her own weight and she collapsed back on the bed, hitting her head on the iron frame. With this, she lost her consciousness.

Valjean gaped at her in horror. Then his eyes moved to Javert and the inspector shivered at the amount of rage they was hiding. The convict’s hand landed on his own and for a moment he got the impression of his fist being crushed in a vise. He could not help but let go of Valjean’s collar.

“You’ve terrified this woman. She passed out,” Valjean said in a low voice.

“Oh, let’s have an end of this!” erupted Javert once more. He could not understand Valjean or his behavior, why did this dangerous man allow him that much, why did he worry over this prostitute?! “I did not come here to listen to argument. Let us not waste any more time; the guard is downstairs, either you will go there instantly or you will go in chains!”

Valjean only shot him a sharp glance and turned away, completely ignoring his threats. Javert again boiled with anger, but then trembled as the convict walked up to one of the old, rusted bedframes and nearly effortlessly broke off a single iron bar off its head. He weighed it in his hand for a moment, then walked up to Fantine’s bed, calling for the nurse. He then turned to Javert, and said in a low voice “I advise you not to disturb me at this moment.”

Javert was trembling. Simply, he shivered with fear. He leaned on the doorframe, faking calmness, as the summoned nurse passed next to him in hurry. He contemplated calling for the two gendarmes waiting downstairs, but it would give Valjean an opportunity to make his escape. Despite everything, that he could not allow.

In the meantime, the nurse and the convict were absorbed by providing care to the unconscious woman. Javert stared blankly at their effort with no understanding - especially of Valjean’s.

The man should have defeated him and gone after his freedom. Only now it dawned on Javert that the two policemen downstairs might not be a significant obstacle for the convict if he attempted to fight them.

Motionlessly, he observed the other man, waiting for a moment when he would be distracted enough. At one point he noticed that Valjean left the iron bar at a distance - too far for him to reach if Javert could make the first move.

Inspector took a few steps in his direction. Neither of the people at Fantine’s bedside seemed to notice him when he stood behind Valjean, rising his cane. He felt no remorse about wanting to knock Valjean out. Even if he did mind the unconscious woman, the nurse was enough to help her - the absence of the convict would not be that harmful. He swung the cane.

Valjean has been aware of his actions, though he chose to ignore them until now. Only when a threat arose, he reacted. He swiftly threw himself to the side, avoiding the hit and reaching for the iron bar. He managed to grab hold of it and swing it back just in time to met Javert’s cane as the man attacked again - and Valjean did it with enough force to knock the weapon out of inspector’s hand. Javert swore in his mind as their eyes, his own startled and Valjean’s furious, locked.

“I told you,” hissed Valjean, rising to his feet with the iron bar at the level of his chest, “not to disturb me.”

Javert fought back the urge to step away and just stood there, shivering, as Valjean returned to helping the unconscious woman and the terrified-looking nurse.

* * *

 

Back at home, Javert flung the cane at his bed in anger. The convict had walked up to him right after he had finished helping Fantine and the nurse, wilfully giving himself up for arrest. He could have had escaped, he was capable of doing that! Inspector had read his papers, each of his escape attempts was carried out with enough skill, strength and cunning to prove that this man would be able to do it in today’s situation as well. He could have knocked Javert out and disappeared before the two remaining gendarmes would take any action. Why had he not done that?!

Javert did not understand. What is wrong with this man that made him go to Arras to be on a trial of a man accused of being Jean Valjean? What for? Javert quickly counted the time between when the mayor had learned about the trial and when he got to Arras. No doubt, it took a considerable amount of effort to arrive there in time. But he did it. For what purpose? Inspector knew only one logical answer to this - Jean Valjean wanted to see the other man convicted for being him. Only then he could be sure that he is safe.

Yet he didn’t fight when Javert came for him. Why?

And what if he actually wanted to help this woman’s child? Is it possible? A criminal, a convict?

Then Javert came to an idea that he would not have suspected himself of.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, here goes the canon part
> 
> I might have or might have not switched from using the English translation of the brick for dialogues and translating the Polish translation
> 
> Actually, I'm very conflicted on whether or not I should translate the difference between the original tu and vous aka the "thou" pronouns or just stick with "you"? Our language doesn't have anything like that so it's not much of an issue in the original, but here?? Should I try to do the thou??? Do people do that???
> 
> Anyways I guess Fantine is alive because hitting your head on the bed frame is a stupid way to die  
> ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> Again, feel free to correct me on any mistakes! Tenses are going to be the death of me.
> 
> ~Pi


	3. Escape

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Javert executes his plan, trying not to regret it immediately.

Javert sent away the guard assigned to keep watch over Valjean, took the keys lying on the table and slowly walked up to the cell. The prisoner seemed not to hear his footsteps; he was kneeling next to the bed, leaning on it and praying. Javert waited for a while and having received no reaction, he spoke dryly: “24601.”

“My name is Jean Valjean,” the man didn’t even lift his head as he replied, “and you know it. I’m not a galley slave now to have you call me this number.”

“I know what you’re called, 24601.”

“Why did you come? To celebrate that you managed to arrest me?”

“No. You would have avoided it if you tried.” Javert clenched his teeth. Even though they both knew it, new he openly admitted that Valjean is way stronger than him.

“Then what are you doing here?”

“Three days,” Javert said quietly, “three days would be enough?”

The prisoner sprung up and immediately leapt towards the bars, clenching them in his hands and causing the inspector to take a step back, anticipating an attack.

“Yes, three days will suffice. I do not want to run away, but I simply must help this poor woman, allow me to do it!” Valjean exclaimed on a single breath of air, hesitated for a second, then added: “...monsieur.”

Javert glared at him coldly, wondering if he is doing the right thing for what must have been the hundredth time. Still, the convict’s behaviour in the hospital forced him to ponder upon the situation.

“I will grant you that much time. But,” he added sharply, seeing Valjean’s face light up, “I shall accompany you, as you yourself proposed.”

Much to his surprise, the prisoner did not seem particularly troubled by the last announcement. Did it really make him no difference whether or not he would be guarded? Did he assume that he would be able to escape easily anyway? Not this time; Javert planned to do everything not to let himself be caught off-guard and give Valjean a chance of resistance. But first, he had to present the situation so that he would see no other way of escaping.

The inspector started explaining what he had planned out a few hours ago: “Now, keep quiet and listen. There is one way out of this room that you can use without being detected,” he waved his hand in the direction of the window at the end of the corridor. “You’re the only prisoner here now; if everything goes well, nobody will see you. You’ll always be watched over by only a single guard. The keys are either with him or on the table,” he held up his hand, holding the keys, “so I can’t give them to you - he would notice it immediately,” he paused for a moment. “And don’t even try going for the door. As you know, the entire police station is there - it’s never empty, even at night. So-” he tightened the grip on his cane and fought back the feeling of dread, then hesitantly turned the key in the lock, “-I will be waiting. You won’t escape.”

For the entire time, the prisoner was absorbing every word, wide-eyed. At the end, he had one question: “Will you find the transport, monsieur?”

The inspector casted a last, cold glance in his direction, then turned around and left the room, leaving the keys at the table. He will.

He did not suspect Valjean of trying to leave his cell before the nighttime. He had to admit that the convict was a smart person - enough not to risk prison breaks in the broad daylight. At least he hoped so.

 

* * *

 

“Monsieur,” Javert stood before the prefect, briefly bowing his head.

The man lifted his head above the stacks of papers. “Inspector Javert,” he said with slight surprise, “have you duties not ended for today?”

“That is right, monsieur. I come with a request - I would like to ask for a few days off work.”

“Is it an urgent matter?”

“Possibly. I am planning a rather distant travel.”

The prefect stared in silence for a moment, then nodded. “Javert, you are a model officer of the law. I can not remember the last time you asked for a vacation. Of course, you are granted it.”

 

* * *

 

Javert put on a plain blouse and an old cap, using it to hide his long hair, currently collected in a braid. He knew that he had enough of a reputation in the region to be recognised, and he was not certain what to do to avoid it. He obviously could not use the clothes he usually wore when he was not on duty. He had to reach to the very bottom of his closet to find an old jacket, slightly worn and frayed in a few places. It surely has not been worn it in the past years. Hopefully, it will help him hide.

For a while he wondered whether or not he should take his police badge. He would rather not have anyone know his identity for the next three days - everything that he will do will be connected with breaking the law, as he reminded himself with a scowl.  On the other hand... without a proof of his profession, he might not be able to get Valjean imprisoned in case he refused to return to Montreuil-sur-Mer. He tucked the badge into an inner pocket of his jacket - one that was the hardest to reach, in case someone tried to pickpocket him.

He arrived at the window of the prison and waited there, fiddling with a knife that had to suffice as a weapon - just in case. He also tucked a pistol behind his belt and packed some bullets and gunpowder into his pockets, though not planning to use it unless he gets himself into an extreme situation. Currently, that seemed disturbingly likely.

He stood there, wondering briefly how many laws did he manage to break already. Everything that he was currently doing countered his usual ethics painfully. He did not understand what struck him so much to push him to this point - yet here he was, blatantly going against his own ideals.

A quiet sound of knocking on the glass could be heard and a look at the window allowed him to witness Valjean getting rid of the bars at the window - and action accompanied by a loud, metallic sound. He cast a nervous glance at the side of the building, but could not notice anyone coming to investigate the source of the noise. Hopefully, it was not hearable from the inside of the police station.

Shaking his head, he hid the knife in the pocket of his jacket and waited impatiently until Valjean crawled through the window. Javert could see a kind of professionalism in his movements; he remembered why did a mere bread thief spend 19 years in the galleys. “Five years for theft,” he muttered under his breath, “the rest for escape attempts. Four of them.”

“Good to see you too,” Valjean replied almost cheerfully, wiping the dust off his shirt and hands. “And, to be fair, one time I almost succeeded.”

“You would have gotten away even without any help, wouldn’t you?”

“Perhaps,” Valjean smiled, “and then you wouldn’t get a chance to keep an eye on me - I would just disappear.”

Javert ignored the remark, glancing through the window at the inside of the prison. An unconscious guard was lying next to the table. Unconscious? Or maybe dead? Inspector clenched the handle of the knife inside his pocket and looked back at Valjean. He twitched as his gaze met Valjean’s.

“I only hit him on the head,” Valjean explained, shifting around uncomfortably,  “I would say that we have a few hours before he wakes up, unless someone decides to check on the prisoner.”

Javert glared at him with a rather irrational anger. No, he did not suppose that one of the gendarmes spending the night at the office would willingly decide to visit the prison cells. Usually, it was a quite unpleasant chore, but since the mayor himself became the prisoner, nearly every police officer felt particularly uneasy in the present situation. No, he thought, nobody should show up anywhere near the cells until the time comes to change the now-unconscious man in his duty as a guard - given that he does not wake up first.

When Valjean noticed that the other man holds no intention of replying, he started walking along the shaded edge of the road towards the mayor’s house. His footsteps were quiet and fast; he seemed to pay no attention to the inspector following him. Javert, tailing the escaping prisoner, still felt remorse about what he was doing. He aided a dangerous convict, with only a knife for defense, which weighed down his pocket.

After a while, Valjean stopped in front of his house. “Wait here,” he whispered.

“No way.” Javert once more clutched the handle of the knife, ready to fight if it would prove to be necessary.

Valjean looked at him with slight amusement. “Then come along. Just don’t lose your cap - you’re still quite recognizable, _monsieur l'inspecteur_.”

Javert did not heed the last remark, but held his head low as he followed the other man into the building.

“Good evening,” Valjean greeted his housekeeper - a small, elderly lady - in the tone of monsieur Madeleine, that he used for the past years, “we were not here tonight, right?”

“Of course not,” the woman replied, bowing slightly.

Javert nervously pulled the cap lower over his eyes. This woman had known him - after all, he occasionally visited the mayor when his duties demanded him to do so.

“Do not disturb us, please,” Valjean added, then rushed upstairs. With wave of his hand, he invited Javert inside the room and locked the door behind him.

Inspector shuffled around uneasily. He most certainly did not enjoy the idea of being locked in one room with this madman without the bars between them. He took off his cap and placed in on the mahogany desk, so that it would not cover his field of view in case a fight was to occur.

“Everyone in this town turned against you, except for this woman,” he remarked grimly.

Valjean looked at him, remaining silent for a moment, as if wondering what to say, but then broke into a grin: “And you!”

Javert narrowed his eyes, glaring furiously. Valjean continued to irritate him more with each passing moment, “I do not.”

This effectively removed Valjean’s grin. After a moment of silence, then took a step towards the inspector, bowing his head. “Thank you,” he started carefully, with genuine gratitude in his voice. “And please, do not look at me like that, monsieur,” he lifted up his eyes to the confused policeman. “I have changed. I am no longer a thief, nor a galley slave.”

Javert clenched his teeth. “Such people never change. And, for God’s sake, stop adding ‘monsieur’ to every second sentence. I have commanded you to do it, I know, but somehow you manage to make it irritating.”

As much as he did not want to admit it, he still saw something of the mayor in Valjean. Having the man address him like that only made the situation more uncomfortable - if it could get even more uncomfortable.

“All right,” Valjean shook his head with weariness and walked up to the cold fireplace. Without a word of explanation, he kneeled down and begun digging through the ashes. Javert watched without a comment, pride not allowing him to ask about it.

What Valjean was looking for were the iron tips of his cudgel that he had burned here previously. Anxiously examining the ashes, he could nearly physically feel the pressure of the time on his shoulders. Three days is not much for getting to Montfermeil, returning and delivering Cosette to her mother. But if he managed to get to Arras, he will also make it to the Thénardiers.

“Here they are!” Valjean breathed with relief when he felt a touch of metal on his fingertips. He took two tips of and iron-shod cudgel out of the fireplace. Clenching the blackened metal bits in his hand, he held them close to his face, now holding back a sob. He thanked God for the turn of events and for the help that came from where he would least expect to get it from. “Who am I?” he mumbled, his voice barely audible, “who is he?”

The inspector himself was growing increasingly confused and uneasy, especially as the ex-convict nearly started crying. He shifted his weight from foot to foot, staring at the floor awkwardly.

After a while, Valjean sprung up, strode past Javert and placed the iron tips on the desk. “Enough,” he muttered to himself, walking up to the wardrobe and opening it to search for some inconspicuous clothing.

“Valjean,” said Javert quietly.

Valjean glared at him almost with hostility. “What?”

Javert crossed his arms. “You’re all covered in ashes.”

“Oh,” the other man looked at his dirty hands as if he had never seen them before, “you are right.” He looked around, then took one of the shirts out of his wardrobe and wiped his hands in it.

“Your face,” Javert remarked.

Valjean sighed and walked up to the mirror hanging on the wall, holding the now-dirty shirt. “I don’t mind the white, actually” he mumbled to himself as he faced his reflection, trying to get the ash off his beard.

It reminded the inspector that only a few days ago Valjean had much darker hair. Did the events stress him out enough to make it whiten? In fact, that would not be that shocking - after eight years someone at last caught his trail.

“Well, what are you planning to do now?” Javert asked, watching him attentively.

“I am setting out to find Fantine’s daughter, obviously.”

“I’m going too.”

“Then, we are setting out to find Fantine’s daughter,” he walked back to the wardrobe.

“Where to?” Javert inquired.

“The town is called Montfermeil.”

“That’s rather far away.”

“I know. That is why I had to ask for three days, not one,” he paused. “Did you only take what you are wearing now?”

“What?”

“This jacket is a bit noticeable,” Valjean took a slightly worn cape out of the wardrobe and held it out towards him.

Javert narrowed his eyes. “I won’t accept anything from-”

“Oh, cut it out now, there is no time for this,” Valjean interrupted, pushing the cape into his hands. He then proceeded to ignore the inspector and returned to the wardrobe, pulling off his shirt as he searched for a new one, and letting it fall to the ground.

Javert squinted at the scars on man’s revealed back. He knew them. He knew where they came from. Perhaps he even ordered making some of them.

The man, unaware of Javert’s thoughts, dug out a blouse and an old coat, quickly putting them on. Javert noticed that the coat has many inner pockets which seemed to be filled with something - probably banknotes. With reluctance, he put the cape that he got over his shoulders.

Valjean circled around the room, appearing to be searching for something. “The coin,” he mumbled under his breath, kneeling next to the fireplace again, dipping his hand in the pile of ash. This time he found what he was looking for quickly - he added another small metal object to the ones already lying on the desk. He rubbed his hands together, getting rid of most of the ash on them, then reached for the inkwell. After scribbling a few words on a piece of paper with a pen, he put it under the blackened pieces of metal, leaving some dark marks on the surface of the paper

Javert discreetly glanced at the letter when the other man returned to scavenging the room. He could not decipher some of the words from underneath the iron pieces, but he could understand that the objects were a part of the man’s equipment when he left Toulon/.

“Why hide?” Valjean’s voice sounded. “Just read it. If you are the one taking care of my case, you are going to see it either way.”

Javert glimpsed at the man rummaging through the drawers, then held up the piece of paper, reading the contents: ‘These are the two tips of my iron-shod cudgel and the forty-sou piece stolen from Little Gervais, which I mentioned at the Court of Assizes.’

“What is this for, why are you leaving more evidence against yourself?” Javert asked, trying to make it sound apathetic.

“In case anyone still has any doubts. Though I suppose that I have proven my identity well enough at the court.”

“Pardon?” Javert tilted his head with confusion.

“I have proven that I am Jean Valjean.”

“You’ve proven nothing,” the inspector growled. “The present witnesses recognized Madeleine, who appeared at the trial, as the fugitive convict Jean Valjean, number 24601.”

The older man looked at him, again seeming weary. “I will tell you what happened on the way. We should head out now,” he said as he put a cloak over his shoulders and picked up a coin-filled pouch from the drawer, dropping it into the pocket of his blouse.

Javert took his cap from the desk, tucking his braided hair under it.

Valjean looked fixedly at the inspector. “What about the carriage?”

“A boy is waiting with it at the edge of the town.”

“Great,” Valjean smiled, then opened the door, inviting the inspector to go outside with a gesture.

“No. Go.”

The older man shrugged and exited the room without looking back. As he walked downstairs, he could hear Javert’s footsteps just behind him. “You still have to lead,” he remarked, “I do not know where to go to.”

Javert clenched his fists and breathed out angrily. The travel has not even started, yet Valjean managed to strain his patience multiple times. “I’ll direct you.”

Valjean did not mind his tone and left the building with no further comment, bidding his housekeeper goodbye with a smile. Outside, he stopped and turned around to face the policeman. “But really, for God’s sake, Javert, you have a knife, while lately I spent-”

“How do you know that?”

“Unimportant,” he waved his hand, ignoring inspector’s growl. “I spent most of the time either racing through half of the country or sitting in a cell,” he continued. “Besides, if I had planned to try to attack you, I would have done so already. You could also see that I took no weapons with me. Can you just lead to that carriage?”

Javert glared at him for a moment, then without a word walked past him and headed out in a direction that only he knew.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Introducing Valjean's mood swings and Javert's permanent anger
> 
> Pssst wanna see something dumb about this chapter?? Look here: http://sta.sh/2m87v6h0g0k
> 
> As usual, don't hesitate to correct me on any mistakes!!


	4. Identity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Journeys are made and questions are answered.

It did not take long to reach the destination - a small carriage, watched over by a boy hunched on its seat. Two horses were harnessed to it, as the inspector ordered earlier. 

Javert dropped a few coins into the gamin’s hand and sent him away immediately, fearing that he might recognise and remember him. In the meantime, Valjean climbed on the seat and took the reins. Soon, he was joined by the other man.

They set out in silence and went on without breaking it until the first rays of rising sun lit up the sky. Neither of them was eager to initiate a conversation, even though both of them waited for it; Valjean wished to correct Javert’s image of the recent events, while Javert was curious of his version of what had happened.

“So,” Valjean started.

Javert twitched when the voice suddenly sounded over the clatter of horses’ hoofs and carriage’s wheels meeting the rocky surface. He did not turn his head, staring stubbornly at the road before them.

“What have you heard about the trial?” Valjean inquired.

“That you’ve been recognised.”

“I understand,” the older man muttered. “That who recognised me?”

“Three other prisoners from Toulon.”

“Brevet, Chenildieu, Cochepaille,” Valjean sighed. “They did not even recognise me until I told them some facts that only a fellow prisoner could know,” he shook his head. “I could have expected this. It can be a stain on the court’s reputation, to make such a mistake and have the real criminal come and reveal himself.”

Javert kept his silence, though he hoped to hear more. However, a longer while has passed before Valjean spoke again.

“I could not have allowed an innocent man to be sentenced for being me,” the voice was quiet and the inspector could hear pain in it.

“Pardon?” he raised an eyebrow.

“You had told me that a thief has been arrested and recognised as Jean Valjean, and that he faced a sentence for life. I had travelled to Arras then, to be present at the trial to see whether he would be found guilty.” 

“So if he wouldn’t have faced the sentence...” Javert started.

“...I would have not revealed myself,” Valjean finished, shaking his head.

The inspector held back a snort, crossing his arms. Once again, he questioned his decision to grant the man three days of freedom, his regrets growing.

“Javert, hundreds of people worked under me,” Valjean remarked with apparent irritation.

“So what?”

“All of them will lose their jobs!” he growled, though there was sorrow in his voice, “I have fed these people! Now the factory will close and Montreuil will once again drop into poverty, all because I have revealed myself! If I had remained as Madeleine, the town could continue in its golden age, and now... One life for all of this?” he paused for a moment, then added in a quieter voice: “I suppose that conscience won over mind.”

“Conscience?” Javert scoffed.

“You do not have to believe me, perhaps you will understand later. Now, all that matters is that you let me find Cosette.”

“Are you even certain that this child exists? Do you realize that she might be long dead by now?”

“Not possible,” Valjean muttered, but the inspector could see him frown.

“Where is she supposed to be?”

“In an inn ‘The Sergeant at Waterloo’, under the care of people called the Thénardiers.”

Javert gave no reply. He did not want to admit that he recognised the name - and that he was far from having pleasant associations with it.

* * *

 

They rode until dusk, trying not to waste too much time on stops, until they arrived at an inn in some small town. About half of the journey was behind them, and so was the first of the promised three days. Valjean was getting more nervous with each passing hour and though he tried to seem calm, the tension could clearly be seen in his behaviours.

The older man ordered some alcohol, just to avoid attracting attention while sitting in the inn. The inspector refused to dim his mind like this and just sat across the table with crossed arms. Neither of them was eager to go to their rented room and spend more time in only each other’s company. Aside from this, Javert dreaded the time when he would be too tired to stop himself from sleeping.

A louder voice rang abruptly over the monotonous clamour filling the inn: “I know ya!” 

Javert did not react to the call, but his heart skipped a beat. He casted Valjean a glance from underneath the brim of his cap. They exchanged startled looks. Both were nearly certain that the cry was directed at one of them - the question was, who got recognised, the inspector or the mayor?

“Ya hear me?!”

Valjean took a sip of his drink. Or at least he pretended to do so - Javert suspected that he would not risk drinking any more alcohol in this situation. Not to mention that as Madeleine he did not drink at all. 

The inspector tensed when he heard footsteps behind his back.

“Look ‘ere!”

He felt a hand on his shoulder and before he could react, he was forcibly turned to face someone - a man that he did not recognise, but whose red face reeked of alcohol so much that he wrinkled his nose in disgust. Behind him he could see three other man, also bending over him, all in various stages of drunkenness. 

With the corner of his eye he observed that Valjean moved to the edge of his seat.  _ He might escape _ , he thought, conflicted whether he should focus on the drunkards or on the convict. He came to the conclusion that getting beaten up would most certainly not help him stop Valjean from escaping, and he turned his eyes to the stranger, who stared at him rather dizzily, frowning. “What do you want?” he huffed, reaching for the knife in his pocket. He did not expect the situation to be resolved peacefully.

“‘Course it’s him!” the man shouted in triumph, swaying on his feet, “I remember ya!”

“The feeling’s not mutual,” Javert snarled with contempt. If this man recognised him as a police officer... fighting against four men? They were drunk and he had a knife. He could also use his gun, but perhaps the situation would not force him to do that - he would rather not reveal that he has it. But of course, there was another problem - Valjean could use the situation to make his escape. Or even worse - he might join the attackers.

He felt a tap on his foot under the table. He glanced at Valjean. The man was gripping the cup with a focused gaze. Javert could not figure out whether he wants to tell him not to start a fight or to encourage one. Again, he turned to the drunkard. “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he stated. 

After that, the drunk man knocked the cap out of Javert’s head; the braid that was tucked under it fell on his back. It was the last straw - Javert’s appearance was rather recognizable, and now that his entire face and his hair were visible, there was no doubt for anyone that might know him. 

The drunkard laughed loudly. “Inspector Jav-!”

Before the man could finish, Javert’s fist met his jaw. He could not allow his name to be said aloud - not here and not now. He sprung to his feet, ready to fight off the three others. At this moment, the man closest to him was drenched with wine, then hit in the face with the cup flying after it. It was Valjean making his contribution. So he was not planning to use the situation to run away? 

This made Javert lose his focus for a moment. He felt a punch on his face and lost his footing, causing him to fall at Valjean, who already left his seat to face the attackers. The man supported his weight, pushing his back to a standing position, then ran his eyes over the four opponents. One was still rubbing alcohol out of his eyes and the other one just recovered after a punch to his face, but all four of them seemed strong and potentially dangerous. There was no certainty that they could end this brawl unharmed - this was not something he was prepared for.

There was a glint of steel - Javet took out his knife and now held it out in front of tim in defense. Javert was tall and strong, that is true, and he knew that Valjean was capable of fighting as well, but he doubted whether the situation would be resolved without drawing blood. Speaking about blood... he rubbed his mouth with the back of his hand. It left a red stain on his skin.

With no further hesitation he leaped forward, but instead of fighting with the blade, he used the handle of his knife to hit the man previously soaked with wine. Valjean stepped forward as well and threw a punch at that man, causing him to fall to the floor. At the sight of this two other men jumped up to Valjean in attack. 

Javert saw Valjean stumbling back breathlessly after getting hit in the stomach, but his attention was pulled away by the last one of the drunk men. He was also holding a knife - he presented the biggest danger.

Javert made his attack with the speed of a person who had been dealing with such people for years. Much to his surprise, his opponent turned out to be faster than expected - he avoided the hit nearly with ease. A second later the inspector noticed the dirty blade coming at him - he managed to knock it out of his opponent’s hand just as it cut through the left sleeve of his blouse, nearly reaching his arm. 

At the same time, he felt a tug on the back; it made him step backwards just in time to witness another fist pass through the air where his head was just a moment ago. It belonged to one on the men that were attacking Valjean before. He glanced back - it was Valjean who pulled him, and now he could see that the he held some metallic object.

“Step back,” Valjean said to the drunk men, holding up a gun. Seeing that, Javert reached for his own, but found out that it was not there. It was his gun that Valjean was holding. 

Javert boiled with anger. Once a thief, forever a thief! He had to take it back, he could not allow his own gun to be use against him in the future... but it had to wait. The current situation did not allow him to fight Valjean as well - for the time being, they were on the same side.

The men did not react, but then immediately stepped back when they heard a click. Javert thought that it was just one bullet and there were four men, but none of them seemed to want to take the risk of becoming the single target.

A voice rose over the silence that started when Valjean took out a gun. “No fights here! Get out!” the innkeeper cried, appearing suddenly and bursting into the middle of the commotion, then grabbing two of the surprised drunkards by their collars and throwing them outside through the door. The remaining two met the same fate at the hand of a younger man - probably the innkeeper’s son. 

When the innkeeper turned back to face Valjean, he had already lowered the gun and looked calm, nearly cheerful, as he offered his explanation:  “We were attacked, we had no intention of...”  
“You too,” the man snarled, pointing at the door. 

Valjean gazed at him for a moment, seeming lost in thoughts, then grabbed his cloak and left without a word. Javert followed - and nearly walked into him when he stopped at the door and turned around.

“This is yours,” Valjean said, handing him the pistol.

The inspector glanced with suspicion, then quickly grabbed the gun. “You took it.”

“I borrowed it. And gave it back. We have to find another inn for the night.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wanna know how extra this translation is?? 3 first chapters of this are longer than 4 first chapters of the original version somehow
> 
> As usually, feel free to correct me on anything!!  
> I have no idea how to write this drunk guy's lines, I've never met a drunk English-speaking person in my life??


	5. Morning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Javert wakes up and immediately faces too many problems.

Javert woke up in confusion - the ceiling above him was different from the one in his room. After a while it dawned on him. He must have fallen asleep after they have found another inn in the evening. Where is Valjean?!

There was nobody else inside the room.

He sprung from the bed, cursing the human weakness, fatigue. He looked around, examining the room for any clue about Valjean’s possible whereabouts. He did not know what to look for, since they barely had any baggage. Only the cape and a pouch with money, which he probably carried with him. And the gun? he reached under the pillow, where he put it earlier. It was still there. So the situation was not _that_ tragic.

He put on his jacket and cap, then went downstairs to see the innkeeper, who busied himself with pouring wine into cups behind the counter. “When has my companion left?” he asked, trying to seem as calm as possible.

The man glanced at the window, where the sky was already becoming light. “About an hour ago, I suppose.”

“Has he mentioned where he was going?”

“No. But he did ask me to tell you not to worry,” he shrugged and lost interest in Javert, focusing completely on preparing drinks for the men at the table.

Javert sighed. “Did he pay?”

“Only part of the sum. He said he’ll pay when he gets back.”

Javert cursed under his breath. Of course, when he gets back. Or when he leaves him here to pay the debt.

He did not have a lot of money with him and the innkeeper would not let him out until he pays the rest. Valjean had stopped him without a possibility of a following him - he had enough to cover for renting the room, but what remains would not suffice to afford a long chase. If he had already left the town, Javert had little hopes of catching up. What was he to do? He needed to go to the nearest police station, reveal his identity and say that he is on the track of a dangerous criminal.

At this moment the door to the inn were pushed open with a creak. Javert immediately recognised the figure that showed up in the opening.

He leapt towards Valjean, who in turn greeted him with a nearly cheerful surprised look.

“Good morning.”

“ _What on earth do you think you’re doing_ _?_ ” Javert growled.

“I went out to buy some bread. For the journey.”

Only now did Javert notice that Valjean was holding a bread-sized package. As furious as he was at this man’s behaviour, he did not know what to say. He had a chance to escape and leave Javert with barely any means of following, he could have disappeared. But he came back, ready for further travel.

“Have you got everything from the room?” Valjean asked, seeming not to notice Javert’s mood.

“Yes.”

“Then let us head off.” He took a few coins out of his pocket and handed them to the innkeeper.

When they left the inn, Javert took notice of Valjean’s posture - it has visibly changed since yesterday. His back was more hunched and he was walking stiffly, with a much bigger limp in his right leg than usual.

“What happened when you went out for the bread?”

“Nothing,” he replied calmly.

“You’re wounded.”

“I am not.”

“Oh, and your limp is worse today _just because_?” Javert wrung his hands. “What, you dropped a loaf of bread on your foot? Or did you stumble? Just what is the point of hiding what happened, Valjean? Sorry to break it to you, but you’re not exactly in a position to do that,” he hissed.

“It was just a small street assault,” Valjean sighed. “He thought that he can take me down easily. He struck my old wound.”

“What _he_?”

“The man who recognised you yesterday.”

“He’s still trying to find me?!”

“Seems like that. And me too. He has been following me from the bakery. We have to leave quickly.”

“No. We must lose him - or them - first,” Javert crossed his arms.

“There is no time...”

“If they will follow us out of the town, I assure you that fighting them off will not save us any time. Again, we _have_ to lose them.”

Valjean kept silent for a few seconds, then sighed: “Do you remember any streets other than this one?” he glanced at Javert.

The inspector shut his eyes, remembering how they searched for an inn the evening before. They could not have fit their carriage into some of the narrow streets, but they had passed many of them. Just like in every town, there was a multitude of such paths.

He picked a direction and took a few steps, then turned around to look at Valjean. The man returned his look and followed without a word. Javert suspected that he was focused on the person tailing them, but he could not see anyone like that.

“How fast can you walk?” he asked quietly.

“It’s not as bad as to slow us down,” Valjean replied, sounding offended.

The inspector observed him doubtfully for a moment, then with no further comment turned around and walked down the street. He could see Valjean walking along out of the corner of his eye.

“So, how is your daughter?” Valjean asked suddenly.

Javert turned his head in confusion. “My...?”

“Wouldn’t you like to get her something from the market?” the older man interrupted him joyfully.

Javert blinked, but then understood what the man was trying to do. His face softened. “I suppose we can find something.”

They turned in the direction of the marketplace. Deserted in the evening, now it was full of life. Javert looked around at the crowd flowing between the stands. They can use it to lose whoever was following them. And he saw from Valjean’s behaviour that he would like to leave as soon as possible.

Valjean’s eyes landed on a stall with oranges and he rushed towards it. “Let’s get these!” he beamed. For a moment Javert was not sure if Valjean was really so delighted at the sight of the fruit, but then noticed that he threw a glance over his shoulder before focusing on his face.

“These are ridiculously overpriced,” Javert stated.

“Doesn’t matter,” Valjean handed him the loaf of bread, existence of which Javert had already forgotten, and added in a whisper: “keep an eye on the stands behind us.”

The inspector pulled the cap lower over his eyes and pretended to examine the products on the stalls while he observed the people around. He was looking for someone who did not seem to be a regular customer. For the most part, he saw women bargaining about prices and dirty children, running around and trying to snatch some food from the stands.

“I’ve got them!” Valjean announced, smiling. “These will be for Cosette. Oh, hats!” Before Javert could stop him, he walked up to the stand and tried on one of the hats.

“Valjean, what on earth are you doing?!” Javert growled into his ear, bending over him in exasperation.

“Buying a hat,” Valjean replied, handing a few coins to the seller, who did not even try to bargain. Javert did not know how much did he get, but apparently it was enough for him not to say a word. “So, is there anyone here?” Valjean asked, turning to Javert. On his face the inspector could see all the anxiety that he was hiding under the smile.

“I haven’t seen anyone.”

“We ought to get something for you as well. You’re too recognisable. A scarf? It’ll do,” Valjean decided and hurried to the next stand.

Javert followed with increasing annoyance. “Don’t buy me anything.”

“We might have not lost them. I have to”

“Then I’ll buy it myself!”

“Hide your pride for a while if you want your reputation to survive this, would you?” Valjean huffed, shooting him an angry glare. Having received no reply, he turned back to the stand and bought a grey scarf. He pushed it into Javert’s free hand, then left, walking in the direction of the inn.

Javert wrapped the scarf around his neck, hiding half of his face as well as his anger. It was irrational, he knew it. Valjean simply tried to hide them. The people who followed them surely knew exactly how they looked like in detail. If a simple change in outfit could cause the eyes looking for them in the crowd not to stop on them, it was worth a try.

While walking behind Valjean, Javert hunched his back and pushed his hands into the pockets of his jacket in an attempt to change his usual posture and hide his height. Having worked in the police, he was aware of what the people tailing them would be looking for when trying to spot them in the crowd. He knew that his own appearance was too noticeable for hiding his hair to suffice in this situation. The scarf that covered the lower half of his face at least partially hid his dark complexion. Perhaps that would be enough to lose a few drunkards, but better not risk it.

Speaking of that... Valjean’s hair colour was now easier to spot than before, having turned white. He frowned. “Put up your collar,” he told the older man.

“Hm?”

“To hide your hair.”

“Ah.”

Valjean complied with a smile still glued to his face. At this moment the two men nearly switched postures, as Valjean now straightened his back and held his head high, no longer looking like the man that Javert spent the previous day with. He looked... like Madeleine. Javert gritted his teeth.

“We can probably go back now. _We have to_. We’ve lost too much time here,” he heard Valjean mumbling under his breath.

They went back to their carriage and left the town as fast as they could - hopefully too fast to let the men who tailed them find them again. Valjean was holding the reins with a grim look on his face. Javert sat next to him. He observed how every once in a while the man’s hand travels towards his wounded leg, then flinches back, as if he wanted not to show weakness.

They were the only travellers on the rocky road - at least that is what Javert assumed until he heard a clatter of hooves behind them in the distance.

“Someone is behind us,” he muttered.

Valjean curled up a bit after hearing that. After the encounter near the bakery, he would rather avoid fights. “It might be just a regular traveller.”

“We’ll see.”

“Do you have that gun with you?”

“Mhm.”

Javert did not turn around to look, though he was itching to do so. If this was really a random traveller, he would rather not act as if he suspects him of anything.

They both thought otherwise.

Soon, the source of the sound was close enough for them to be able to distinguish the sound of wheels rolling on the road’s uneven surface amongst the clatter. So it was not only a horse, but also a carriage. The traveller probably was not alone. Two, three, perhaps four people?

The sudden gunshot startled them and the horse. The bullet flew so close to Javert’s head that he flinched and nearly fell off the seat, but somehow stayed on his place. Valjean had less luck and hit the ground as soon as the panicked horse broke into gallop. Javert, though he managed to remain seated, could not control the frightened animal. He jumped off the carriage, landing on the grass not far from Valjean, rolling to reduce the impact of the fall.

Before he had a chance to stand up, he had to throw himself to the side to avoid being trampled by another horse that he only saw as a blur out of the corner of his eye. He then leapt to his feet and moved onto the road, which seemed like a better place to defend himself in than the grassy roadside.

A glance in the direction of Valjean, who was just getting up, was enough to ensure him that he had to count on himself in that. Given that Valjean was not secretly allied with these people - this possibility suddenly dawned on him - he could not tell who was in bigger trouble. It was him who they wanted - but in contrast to Valjean, he was not injured.

The suspicion that Valjean might be in an alliance with the opponents disappeared from his head as soon as their eyes met. The man looked genuinely terrified. Probably not only about himself, but also about the fact that all the plans of finding Fantine’s child and helping it might be shattered in a moment...

Javert heard an increasing rumble behind him and glanced over his shoulder to witness a carriage going at him full-speed. He threw himself to the side once again just in time to avoid it, landing back on the grass.

“Valjean!” he shouted, seeing that the carriage did not slow down, instead charging at the older man.

He had no time to see how did he deal with the situation - he saw something move next to him and before he could react, someone’s fist landed on his face. He stumbled back a few steps, blinking to regain clarity of vision.

He recognised the man before him from last evening. He took a few more steps back, carefully watching his opponent who followed him with a knife in his hand. Javert reached into his pocket for his own weapon, but was interrupted by a shout:

“Behind y-!” Valjean had no chance to finish as he failed to avoid his opponent’s strike.

Javert turned his head - and immediately stepped to the side, barely avoiding a knife of a new enemy. This one was the man who first recognised him yesterday.

His previous opponent seemed deconcentrated by this - he used the opportunity strike his face and he ensured that it would be strong enough to knock the man unconscious. He hoped that he would stay down for the rest of the fight - it would make it two against two. There was no time to check - he turned back to the man who tried to hit him from behind earlier.

Javert pulled his gun out, but before he could use it, his wrist was hit with the barrel of his opponent’s pistol, knocking the weapon out of his hand. He hissed in pain, but then noticed the attacker’s face - and he realized that his gun is loaded.

A gunshot sounded in the air.

Despite a last-minute attempt of getting himself out of the line of fire, Javert felt burn in his side. He swayed on his feet, suddenly gasping for air and pushing a hand to the wound.

For that moment he was completely defenceless. He saw his opponent swing his gun as if it was a cudgel - then a jolt of pain went through his head and he realized that he was falling.

The last thing he could hear was Valjean’s scream.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :D  
> Javert needs to chill
> 
> Also here, have a fun thing for this chapter: http://sta.sh/2wpqmmtah4f


	6. Laudanum

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Javert wakes up.

Javert’s side ached. And his head. And the rest of his body, too. But mostly his side. He also felt stinging cold at the skin of his shoulders and chest. He lifted his hand and moved it to his stomach. His palm touched another, warmer than his, which was examining skin around wound. He immediately drew his own hand back and tried to sit up with fear in eyes. The other hand stopped him from doing that by pressing on his collarbones. Javert shuddered when his skin was suddenly heated up.

“Calm down.”

A familiar white-haired head appeared in his field of vision. Only then he managed to put the facts together.

“Valjean, how dare you-”

“What, how dare I patch you up? Would you rather bleed out?”

“I can take care of my own injuries.”

“You were unconscious. You could have died before you would even have a chance to try.”

“What, do you expect gratitude?”

“And did I ask for it? I don't care about thank-yous, just about your health,” Valjean spoke nervously, looking genuinely concerned. “How are you feeling? Can I get back to bandaging you up?”

Javert again tried to sit down, but he gasped when a sting of pain stopped him.

“Stop wasting your energy, Javert, it will be needed later.”

The inspector fell back on cape, which was the only layer separating him from cold ground.

He glared at Valjean with hostility but did not protest when he tended to his wound. He took notice of a few facts about his situation - Valjean also looked beaten up - he had a black eye and a cut on his lip - and Javert himself was constantly getting colder from the freezing wind. He did not know where his jacket and blouse were. In fact, he did not know anything. Like what happened to the three attackers. He clenched his teeth, holding back a shiver.

“It only scratched me,” he protested, not really believing it to be effective. He did not like the closeness. He did not like any kind of closeness to another person. Especially not in the form of him being taken care of. And especially not in the form of Jean Valjean. He could take care of himself on his own.

“Yes, it’s not as bad as it could have been. I’m surprised that you’ve managed to avoid a bullet fired so close to you. It should have... killed you.”

“I know. My profession requires alertness and re-” he hissed when Valjean pressed something to his side.

“Certainly. Now you need to sit up, I need to wrap the scarf around,” he smiled. “I told you it’ll come of use.”

“You’ve sent these drunkards at me? Too bad they didn’t manage to kill me,” Javert mumbled when the older man supported his back, helping him up.

Valjean raised his eyebrows. “I didn’t think he hit you over the head hard enough to make you say such things.”

“You’re disappointed that I’ve survived,” Javert growled, whisking the hand away from his wound. He was angry - angry that he was the injured one that needed assistance. And that Valjean treats him like he presented no threat of putting him back in prison.

“Disappointed,” Valjean asked with confusion. “Why would I be disappointed?”

Javert looked to the side, at the ground, not responding. Valjean knew why, he realized. What kind of question was this?

Valjean sighed when he realized that he is not getting a response. “I need help with this. Press it to the wound,” he said as he pushed a folded fragment of Javert’s own blouse into his hands.

Javert compiled, so unfocused that he nearly did not feel the sting of pain caused by the pressure. He still did not understand Valjean. Why had he not let him die? He was not obliged to help him. He could have driven away, leaving him here. Actually, he did not have to get into the fight at all - it was him who was targeted. The attackers left their carriage unguarded, it would be enough to get to it...

“Why didn’t we just use their carriage? They just left it there!” he muttered. He heard a chuckle in response and looked at the older man with bewilderment. “Don’t-”

“We didn’t use it then but... you mean this one?” Valjean pointed behind him.

Javert turned his head to notice two horses and a carriage that the attackers used before. It was small, suited for no more than two people, with a hood for protection from the rain. A bit worse than the carriage that they have lost, but he would not turn away any opportunity of getting some means of transport now.

“Actually, where are _they_?” he asked, remembering the men that came in the carriage.

“You have knocked out one, and then I beat the second one. The last one ran away when I shot the ground next to him.”

“You _shot_?” Javert glared at the other man.

“Yes. With your pistol. I’ll give it to you later, it’s not important now. It’s not even loaded, after all.”

Javert ignored his words, having to agree.

“What should we do about these unconscious two?” Valjean asked. “They might wake up soon.”

“Then we need to leave before they do,” Javert wanted to stand up, but was stopped by Valjean’s hand on his shoulder.

“One more thing. I’ve found a few things in your pockets-”

“Why did you search my pockets?”

“I wasn’t. Your blouse is now your bandage, I had to empty them.”

Javert tensed up and locked his eyes on the ground. He knew what he was about to be asked.

“I understand the gunpowder and bullets, but... Javert, you don’t seem like a religious man.”

A rosary made of black glass swayed before Javert’s eyes. He closed them and huffed lightly. “Even I can surprise you sometimes.”

“Look at me, please.”

Javert raised his head and glared at him coldly. He would not admit it to himself, but he dreaded the questions that were about to come.

“Why do you have the rosary that I gave you back in Montreuil?”

“That’s none of your concern,” he growled back, snatching the rosary from Valjean’s hand and getting to his feet. He pressed his hand to his wounded side, attempting to ignore the sting of pain caused by the movement, but the world spun around him anyway. He swayed but felt that hands on his shoulders helped him not to fall.

“Let go of me,” he snapped, freeing himself and walking towards the carriage.

“You could have just said so, no need to be so aggressive,” Valjean noticed, following him. His gentle tone only irked Javert further.

“Let’s just go already,” he growled as he seated himself on the carriage, gritting his teeth as his wound protested against it. He straightened his back when he noticed Valjean looking at him with concern.

“Stop hurting yourself to prove that you’re all right,” Valjean sat down next to him and rushed the horses to start off. “Both of us are wounded and don’t look too well. Why deny it?”

He sighed as no response came.

“Your jacket,” he handed Javert the familiar piece of cloth along with his cloak. “You’ll freeze.”

Javert put it on with a hiss at the pain radiating from his side when he moved. He wrapped the cloak around him, only now realizing how cold he was. He clenched the rosary in his fist, staring stubbornly at the road any not reacting to any of Valjean’s words.

Why did he still have the rosary with him? He was not sure. Madeleine gave it to him when he came to introduce himself as the inspector of the police. Even though Javert suspected him of being Jean Valjean, after a few years it became rather meaningless in the light of what he was doing for the town. Madeleine became the mayor of the town and Javert had to accept him as his superior and to respect him. It happened - he began to hold him in high esteem, seeing how he gives profit to the town rather than to himself. The rosary was a symbol of goodness and service to the country.

When Madeleine was revealed to be Valjean, the inspector refused to get rid of his symbol or to change its meaning to Valjean’s lie. The rosary remained untouched by the anger Javert held for the ex-convict. More than that, a look on it was often enough to calm him down. Even now - he caught himself absently fiddling with the beads. He stopped immediately, before Valjean could notice.

The older man sat still, not disturbing his thoughts. Javert felt uneasy about what he might have thought finding the rosary... and wanted to straighten it out.

“It was a symbol of service to the people to me,” he mumbled, leaning back. “Madeleine was such a symbol,” he added in a sharper tone, shooting Valjean a cold glare.

“You were one of the people who distrusted me the longest, though.”

“I remembered Jean Valjean from Toulon. Madeleine was too similar to him,” Javert shut his eyes, recalling the image of a tattered and tired, yet unusually strong prisoner from the galleys. He was not sure why did he remember him so clearly - a random person, recognisable only by his strength. Well, not exactly - there were also his four attempts of escape. It made him more memorable.

Javert sighed and winced when it made his wound sting again. “I nearly got rid of my suspicions when he became the mayor... I respected him,” he spit it out with contempt.

Despite his closed eyes, he could sense that Valjean was looking at him. He clenched the beads in his hand. Not without a reason did he refer to Madeleine in third person. He did not believe that Valjean could be what Madeleine claimed to be. He only did all that to reach security and a high position. It must have been hard, acting like such a person for years.

“Javert,” Valjean spoke, causing Javert to open his eyes. He did not like the sadness in the older man’s voice. “You shouldn’t feel bad for respecting me as Madeleine. Nobody would blame you for this. I did as much good as I could, and made the town prosper. Who would you resent yourself for respecting such man?”

“Because he was you,” Javert scoffed. “People don’t change. You were a thief, you were a criminal - and you still are.”

“Well, I can’t argue with that; I broke my parole. But if you consider everyone who had broken the law a bad person... I can’t agree. I am not and neither were the ones that worked in the galleys with me. Not all of them, of course, but many of them got there for minor crimes caused by poverty and hunger. Do you think that trying to survive the winter is a crime?”

“If it results in a breach of the law, then yes,” he replied coldly, but his voice cracked and he stared down at his knees.

He knew that his own mother was one of these trying to just survive like that. He did not remember much from his early years, but he spent three years in prison with her. He could remember her face once, but not anymore; too many years have passed. Still he knew how women like her looked like - criminals, especially ones in prisons. He supposed that was how she looked like as well.

Suddenly, Valjean furrowed his brow.

“Isn’t it our carriage?”

Javert looked up and noticed that indeed, they were approaching a similar shape on the side of the road. Their horses, startled by the gunshot, rode away a fair distance, but eventually stopped here.

“I prefer ours than this one,” Javert murmured.

“Me too. And our baggage is there,” Valjean agreed, stopping the carriage next to the other one. He got up and approached the horses. He walked around, examining them for any signs of injury. With a sigh of relief, he concluded that there was no damage done to the animals. He then turned back to Javert, who still observed him from the height of the carriage seat.

“Can you switch carriages by yourself?” Valjean asked.

“I’m not dying,” Javert scoffed and got down, walking up to the other carriage and getting to its seat.

Valjean followed after him, glancing with worry at inspector’s hand pressed close to his wound. They had to get medical help as soon as they could.

* * *

 

 

“Javert.”

The inspector jerked awake hearing his name. In a first instinct, he flung his fist forward at the face in front of him.

Valjean clenched his teeth when he was struck in the face. “That was unnecessary,” he mumbled. “We’re in a town, near the doctor’s house. Come.”

It was almost completely dark; the sun has already set, leaving some traces of twilight. Javert staggered off the carriage without saying a word and looked around.

The town was small, similar to Montreuil in times before the savior Madeleine took office. The street was empty save for a few passersbys and beggars who had nowhere else to go.

Javert turned his eyes away to examine the building in front of which they stopped. It seemed rather well-kept as compared to its surroundings. The signboard was illuminated with a lamp and gave a surprisingly good impression. Javert hoped that it meant that the doctor was fairly competent.

“I will wait here,” Valjean said.

Inspector shot him a distrustful glare. Even if there were enough opportunities already, he did not believe that Valjean will not attempt escaping. A moment of distraction would be enough.

“Javert, really?” Valjean groaned, seeing his look. “We can’t leave the carriage here unattended, so I’ll stay. Do you really think I will drive away?”

“It wouldn’t be too surprising,” he responded in a gravely voice.

Before Javert could protest, Valjean put some coins into his hands. He glared at him but accepted the money without complaining.

He walked up to the door and knocked. After a moment it opened, revealing an old woman standing behind it. One glance at the inspector was enough for her to invite him in. Even though Javert took care not to make his wound visible, a woman working with the doctor could easily tell that he was wounded. Javert followed her inside, pressing his hand to his side. It pulsated with pain - after the daze of sleep has receded, it was the only thing he felt.

“I will wake the doctor. Please sit down.”

He seated himself in the armchair and leaned back, shutting his eyes. He had not been wounded for a long time before this. He had no patrols or cases dangerous enough to get himself injured. And now - multiple fights in a row. And he was certain that it was not the end of it. Just like he was sure that despite his words, Valjean will not peacefully return to prison. He will resist and fight back. For certain.

“Good evening.”

Javert’s eyes focused at the man who just walked into the room and now stared at him observantly.

“Not very good, really,” he replied. “Will you patch me up? I can pay.”

“Follow me, please. Do you need help, monsieur?”

“No, I can walk.”

“I see. But it might be making it worse,” the doctor noticed.

Javert shook his head with resignation. He had to regain his strength. He could not afford to be in a worse state than Valjean, and it was how the situation looked like for now.

He accepted the man’s extended hand and was led into another room, furnished with a wooden table and a few drawers. A plain-looking room of work for any doctor.

“Please take off your jacket and lay down,” the doctor commanded. “Agnes, get us some laudanum,” he said to the old woman who followed them into the room.

 _Laudanum_. Javert knew how it worked. It will dim his mind and put him on the mercy of the people around, and then Valjean. But getting it stitched without any kind of anesthesia? No, he had to believe that he was safe for now.

“Are you on your own?” the doctor seemed to read his mind.

“No. I have a companion. He’s waiting outside. Please notify him when it’s done, we’re in a hurry.”

The doctor casted him a worried glance, but nodded. “Alright. Here, drink it,” he handed him a small glass container.

* * *

 

Not much later the doctor escorted him outside. Javert couldn’t exactly stand straight on his own, and he saw two blurry Valjeans instead of one. Both seemed worried.

The doctor literally handed the inspector to the older man and he nearly embraced him, mumbling something incomprehensible. He did not know why he did that; the anesthesia dimmed his mind and made him more or less drunk. He laughed quietly, leaning on Valjean.

“Do you feel alright?” Valjean asked, wrapping his arms around him so that he would not fall.

The inspector simultaneously cursed himself for this behaviour and saw nothing wrong in it; it even amused him. Valjean having to deal with him in that state seemed like a hilarious idea at the moment.

“I feel great!” he took a step back, swaying on his feet and grinning at Valjean’s look of worry. “Why are you looking like this? Everything’s alright, I feel wonderful, you also should-”

“He was given quite a bit of laudanum,” the nurse interrupted him with an explanation.

“Ah. That would explain everything, thank you. Can I buy some of it? In case he needs it later. The shops are closed by now, and we don’t have time to wait until morning... I can pay well.”

She frowned, then walked back into the building. She soon returned with a small glass bottle.

Valjean searched his pockets for the amount of money asked of him, adding some more coins. He handed the payment to the nurse, taking the bottle. Then he noticed that she’s handing him something else as well.

“Is this his hat?”

“Yes. It fell to the floor at some point, and we must have forgotten about it.”

“Thank you,” he smiled at the woman.

She smiled back and returned to the building, locking the door behind her.

Valjean was left alone with the inspector.

“Javert, look at me please.”

Javert complied with a grin on his face, looking fixedly at Valjean’s brown eyes.

“I got you a blouse. Here, put it on.”

Javert bit his lip, taking off his jacket with Valjean’s help. His wound did not bother him anymore, but he felt drowsy. Despite the general good mood, he would rather go to sleep. He put on the blouse handed to him, then slipped back into his jacket.

Valjean wrapped the scarf around his neck and helped him get back on the carriage. Javert leaned back in his seat, closing his eyes with an absent-minded smile still lingering on his face.

* * *

 

Javert woke up when it was still dark. He blinked and rubbed his face, fighting off the dizziness. He realized that he’s in a carriage, driving through fields. He glanced at the man sitting next to him.

Valjean was clearly tired, with half-closed eyes and a hunched back, but Javert knew that he was awake - he would not fall asleep in this situation.

Javert sighed, unbuttoning his jacket to examine the bandages. They were dry - at least he was not bleeding.

“What did I do?” he asked in a slightly hoarse voice. Laudanum did not seem to affect his mind anymore, but he still felt rather dazed. He did not remember what happened between the visit at the doctor and now, but his blurred bits of memories were rather concerning.

“Nothing as bad as you might think,” Valjean responded and Javert noticed a brief smirk on his face.

“What happened?” he asked sharply.

“Nothing much. You were simply more... uh, less stern around me than usual. I just let you be.”

“What? What was I doing?” Javert stiffened.

“You had surprisingly little problems with-” he hesitated.

“With _what_?”

“Uh, physical contact?” Valjean snorted. He switched to a more serious expression when he noticed Javert’s glare, but a smile still lurked in the corner of his mouth. “You had trouble standing, and I can with clear conscience say that you hugged me.”

“That I did _what_?”

“Mhm.”

“Not possible,” he protested, despite not remembering anything. He could not imagine it happening, so he assumed that it did not.

“Call it what you want - you needed help staying on your feet and I was the closest stable support point.”

Javert clenched his teeth and crossed his arms. He made no response, staring forward at the road, barely visible in moonlight.

“It was the first time I’ve ever seen you smile,” Valjean whispered.

“And the last time,” Javert promised with a growl.

“I’ve known you for years and not even once did I ever know you to smile. It’s... rather sad that you need laudanum for this.”

“End this topic,” Javert warned. “It’s becoming weird.”

Valjean chuckled quietly and nodded. “I understand.”

Javert did not doubt that he did. Neither of them was very open about their feelings, even though that was for different reasons.

Suddenly, a small bottle made of dark glass appeared before his eyes, causing him to jerk back in surprise. “What is that?” he asked with suspicion.

“Laudanum. I bought some in case you will need it.”

“I am not putting myself back in that state because of this.”

“Take it.”

Javert snatched the bottle with exasperation, then put it away on the seat, careful not to let it fall.

“Are you fully awake by now?” Valjean asked.

“So it would seem,” Javert grumbled in response.

“Can you take the reins for now. I might... need some sleep.”

Javert turned his head towards him. Valjean was looking at him with request. He could not see his face clearly, but he could imagine that he was tired by now. He had not slept since last night; even then, it was hard to tell how much did he sleep, considering how he left early. Javert nodded and accepted the reins handed to him.

“Thank you,” Valjean said with gratitude.

Javert ignored it. “Where is my gun?”

Valjean glanced at him with hesitation.

“A change of roles?” Javert scoffed. “Now you’re not trusting me with it? I need to load it. Just in case.”

Without a word, Valjean took of the pistol and handed it to Javert, then leaned back and closed his eyes. After a while his breathing became slow and regular. He fell asleep. Javert observed him for a moment. This man really did trust him with his life and left everything up to him now.

When he was planning to help Valjean, he did not consider how hard it would be to spend three days without sleeping. It was doable, true, but could be a fatal mistake. Even if both of them would be equally exhausted, Valjean would have bigger chance of winning any conflicts. Now, Javert was also more beaten up of the two - or shot, to be exact. It was more of an disadvantage than whatever happened to Valjean’s leg.

Suddenly, the carriage jumped up on the bumps on the road, causing Javert to hiss when his wounded side moved. At the same time, the head of the sleeping man landed on Javert’s shoulder when he was toppled over by carriage’s movement.

Javert glared at him and pushed him back to the side, careful not to wake him up. Valjean remained like it for a moment, then fell over to the side again, leaning on the inspector.

Javert narrowed his eyes in irritation, wondering if waking him up to have him move away was worth it. True, it was less than comfortable for him, but he did not want to disturb him now, even if his exhaustion could prove to be helpful.

Even Valjean deserved some rest.

He sighed quietly and leaned back a bit, trying not to make Valjean’s head fall from his shoulder. His eyes fell on the bottle of laudanum. With some resignation, he reached towards it and drank a few drops. The wound kept hurting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~finally~  
> Well, he're the long-overdue translation (the original version managed to get to chapter 12 by now, oh well)  
> Motivation lows, u feel me??
> 
> Anyway, here are some doodles for the chapter: http://sta.sh/21w8su1adxm5
> 
> See you in another eternity probably  
> ~Pi
> 
>  
> 
> Pls give their motivation ;-;
> 
> ~Aru

**Author's Note:**

> This is a translation of Aruccio's Polish fic Trzy Dni and English isn't the first language of either of us, so absolutely do feel free to correct me on any mistakes!  
> Hopefully the next chapter will be up soon, I just need to translate it :D


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